


Hooper House Rules

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Post Reichenbach, Season/Series 02, The Full House Ficverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's still her house. And if this is going to work, there need to be rules."<br/>Set within Emcee Frodis' "The Full House" ficverse and major spoilers for that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Need for Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Full House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/398748) by [Emcee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee). 



> Hello!
> 
> This is Lex, presenting you with a little series of snippets that I put together based on Emcee Frodis' MARVELOUS story: "Full House".
> 
> I approached her with just a little bit of commentary about crack!thoughts I had about her characters...and then was shameless enough to ask if I could write about them.
> 
> She was kind and gracious enough not only to let me have pretty much free reign with her ficverse, but even to beta this story. So, hats off to you, my darling (new) friend!
> 
> NOTE: There are SERIOUS spoilers for her story in all of this, so if you're not caught up, leave here and go read it [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/398748)
> 
> This chapter is taking place in the context of Ch. 6.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing but the bad grammar.

**HOOPER HOUSE RULES**

**A Need for Rules**

Molly only vaguely remembered the first time she'd seen Irene naked. It had been shocking- had been meant to shock- but it still wasn't exactly clear just which one of them it was meant to be affecting.

Molly had been a tad bit surprised when she realized just how much it irritated Sherlock. She worked with naked-albeit dead-bodies for a living, so she had mastered the technique of discreetly keeping her eyes focused elsewhere. But it was evident that it was grating on Sherlock's nerves and Irene was relishing in it.

It wasn't until she walked into her flat after a particularly long day to find both Irene and Sherlock sitting in her living room- naked as the day they were born and glaring daggers at each other in some sort of twisted battle of wills- that Molly decided something had to be done.

"Molly!" Sherlock drawled in an overly casual voice, never once removing his glare from the other woman. "Welcome home. How was your day?"

"W-w-what the HELL is going on?" Molly stuttered, her eyes flying between the two occupants in the room, not sure when exactly this had become her life or what she had done to deserve the punishment.

Irene coolly ran a finger across the edge of the sofa. "Hello, Doctor Hooper. I'm afraid you've found us in the middle of a little game. One that Mister Holmes stupidly believes he can win."

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched for a second but otherwise showed nothing but cool indifference as he smiled tightly at Irene. "I can beat Mycroft; I can beat anyone."

It was Irene's turn to smile. "I seem to recall that I've beaten you before." She leaned forward, and her smile grew wicked. "Would you like a reenactment?"

"Enough!" Molly cried out, finally having had the last straw with these two. "Now, this  _my_  flat, and you can't just go around... _naked_  because you feel like you need to prove something!"

Molly turned on her heel, grabbing a notepad from the little desk by the phone and scribbling something on it. She tore off the page and turned to face her stunned flatmates.

"If we're going to carry on like this, then there need to be rules," she said, waving around the sheet of paper in her hand. "Okay? You'll need to follow them or get out. And the first one: you  _need to wear clothes_."

She was met by silence and two steely blue gazes, but for once she wasn't going to let them intimidate her. "Really, it's not hygienic. Toby's everywhere in this flat and if the two of you carry on like this, it will not end well. Now-  _please_ \- go and put something on. You can find another way to play your...games or whatever it is you're doing."

To her surprise, Sherlock looked properly rebuffed and even Irene appeared a bit sheepish. Molly felt a swell of pride. Sherlock stood up then, making his way to the bedroom, hopefully to get dressed. Irene picked up a dressing gown that had been draped over the sofa and wrapped it around herself, a genuine smile on her face.

"I'm, um, I'll just-go and put this up where we can all see," Molly said, some of the fire from her earlier outburst having fizzled out. She moved into the kitchen, stopping at the refrigerator and grabbing one of her kitten magnets. She tacked the sheet of lavender paper speckled with daisies, her handwriting neat across the top, the letters quick and forceful.

" _ **HOOPER HOUSE RULES**_

_**Applicable to all who live in the flat. No exceptions.** _

_**# 1: Please wear clothing at all times."** _

She frowned a bit. Even when angry, she was still polite.

"Surely, you don't mean at  _all_ times."

Sherlock's voice over her shoulder made her jump in surprise, nearly knocking into him as he read her list.

"Not while in the shower, obviously," he went on, and caught her eye as she turned to look at him. His lips twitched up in a small smirk and she felt a blush creep up. She thought she saw something else there too... Something akin to respect.

"No, I guess not," she agreed and Sherlock took a step back, dressed as immaculately as ever, walking back into the living room and picking up his violin. She heard Irene make some sort of remark to which he replied with a very high pitched and grating note. That would be something to address later.

Molly looked at her list again, worrying her bottom lip. Something about seeing it there, much like one she remembered from her childhood home, made her feel something she hadn't in a long long time: the warmth of family.

She picked up the pen again and carefully punctuated with a small smiley face. Smiling to herself, she went about seeing what kind of food she could throw together for dinner.

" _ **#1: Please wear clothing at all times. Except in the shower. That would be messy :-)"**_


	2. Health Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Less than nothing. Which is negative nothing. That's what's mine.
> 
> based on "The Full House" (Chapter 6)

 

* * *

**Ch 2. Health Risk**

" **#2: No smoking."**

"Really, Molly, don't be absurd," Sherlock's voice carried through the kitchen to be met with nothing but the tat-tat of Toby's tail flicking on the linoleum floor. He stared at Molly's handwriting on the refrigerator door for a moment longer, eyes flicking over the items on the list, his mind racing. Even as he stared at her confident lettering (interesting indeed), his fingers itched to hold a cigarette, needing to be able to think clearly but frustrated with his situation. He considered nicking another couple from the neighbors, but knew that Molly would know immediately.

Letting out a growl of frustration that had Toby hissing back, Sherlock moved back into the bedroom, pulling out the box of nicotine patches and slapping three on his forearm. He flopped himself down on the mattress, adjusting his head on the pillows as he waited for the nicotine to kick in.

Moriarty's reappearance had been nagging at Sherlock since it began, the behavior pattern not quite as obvious as he would have liked. At one time, it would have been exciting: the rush of the chase, the game that only they knew how to play. But things were different now. This wasn't thrilling. The puzzle was muddled, at best. Nothing made sense except the dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach since he'd heard Moriarty's voice on the other end of the phone, a gun to Molly's head. Hopefully, the leads that the Woman would bring in would help form a better idea of what was going on. This needed to end. The faster the better. But Sherlock knew that it wasn't to be. Bringing Moriarty to an end, even with a genius like himself, would take time.

None of these musings were new. In fact, they were the same boring rehashing of the same boring facts he'd had not long after his "death". Sherlock inhaled sharply in frustration, glaring at the ceiling of the bedroom.

The smell of Molly's shampoo hit him sharply, leading him to a room in his mind palace which he'd very firmly shut the door on on several occasions. Unbidden, the door opened to the pastel colored room in his mind. The fact that Molly even  _had_  a room in his mind palace at all was alarming at first; but he rationalized that being the only person that he could really trust at the moment, it made sense. Filled with obnoxiously light colors and a worrying amount of childlike jumpers, Sherlock wondered at the pile of things he had been avoiding cataloging. First and foremost being the cream and pink pillow by the entrance. He knew what it meant, what it represented, even as he also recognized that physically, this was the same pillow that was currently between his head and the mattress.

He stood up quickly, walking purposefully into the living room and flipping open Molly's laptop, starting a search. He knew what that cream colored pillow in his mind palace felt like, what it really was. He knew that it was warm and sighed lightly in sleep and that he couldn't help but pull it to him in the dark, not really settled in those rare nights of sleep until it was secure beside him. The feel of Molly herself in his arms was a development that occurred since the Woman arrived and he'd been purposefully pushing back the things that were nagging at him since it had begun.

He peered at the article produced by the search, his eyes quickly skimming over the details and references to professionals. Right near the beginning was the part that he was looking for. He didn't like it. Surely, there had to be something else. His next search proved to show much of the same thing, with words like "trust", "connection", "emotional intimacy", and "spooning", all by supposed "experts".

It was far from helpful.

He stood up again, his brain muddled with the information and the feelings that seemed to be swirling around in his body, egged on by that pastel room. It was longing, he admitted to himself, much like coming off a high.

He really needed a cigarette.

Maybe another nicotine patch would help.

The next thing he remembered was Molly calling his name frantically and her fingers pressing into his erratic pulse.

"Sherlock, what the hell have you done?" There was real panic in her voice and it roused him from the fuzziness in his brain. "I can't take you to a hospital, please, please, don't do this."

"No smoking," he managed to say, confused at the roughness in his voice.

"What?"

"Rule number two," he said, managing to give her a scathing look for even putting it up as one of the rules. He'd told her he wouldn't. Why did she need to make it a rule?

"Good Lord, Sherlock. But this couldn't have happened with just three patches, I've taken them off already," Molly said, continuing to monitor his pulse.

He leveled a glare at her. "It was a five patch problem."

She stopped and looked at him, her eyes widening a bit as she quickly pushed back the sleeve on his other arm. In two swift motions, she'd removed the other two patches, throwing them down on the ground.

He started to feel the trembling in his hands, and she held them tightly in her own, her small fingers digging into his palms. "Sherlock, what have you done?" There were tears in her eyes, and it churned his stomach to think that he'd put them there. Funny, it never really bothered him before.

No, as it turned out, this was a different type of churning. He managed to make it to the toilet before hurling the meager contents of his stomach, the shaking more prominent now. Vaguely, he registered the Woman's voice in the flat and Molly giving hurried instructions. He knew it had been at least three years since she'd actually treated a living person, let alone an overdose.

He hovered beside the toilet, knowing from experience that this was far from over just yet, and he wanted to save himself at least some semblance of embarrassment. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead and he did his best not to let his teeth chatter.

"Here," Molly instructed gently, indicating a couple of pills that he recognized as activated charcoal. "This will help."

"Yes, thank you, Molly," Sherlock answered, swallowing the capsules dry as the thought of water entering his system at that moment was completely out of the question.

"Will he be alright?" the Woman's voice came from just above him. Somehow, he'd ended up with his back pressed up against Molly, his head cradled against her chest as they sat on the bathroom floor, the cool compress to his head being kept on his forehead by her hand.

"He'll be alright soon," was Molly's reply, doing her best to make her voice sound sure. Her fingers were running slow motions through his hair and he finally felt like maybe the trembling might stop.

He visited the toilet at least twice more before he felt that maybe the real danger was subsiding.

"Don't you ever do that again, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said as he returned to her embrace. Her voice was low and forceful but he could hear the worry underneath the bravado. "I can't keep bringing you back from the dead."

He remained silent.

"Promise me."

He hated promises. They were empty words and were almost immediately broken.

"Make it a rule," came his answer, his eyes closed as she continued to hold him.

This earned him a small laugh, one he felt against his back as well as heard in his ear. "I just might."

He smiled.

" _ **#2: ~~No smoking.~~ Since you are not, let's change this to NO MORE FIVE PATCH PROBLEMS. I'm a Doctor, for goodness sakes!"**_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious, all the House Rules were written and posted on Molly's fridge pretty early on, meaning that Rules 1-5 went up almost immediately. The next chapters will be in time-sequential order, but not in "rule" order. ;)
> 
> cheers.
> 
> -Lex


	3. Classical Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Really. It's a bit pathetic.
> 
> based on "The Full House" (Chapter 8)

 

* * *

Sherlock needed to think.

Cold showers were helpful in getting him to concentrate on something besides the way that his body was rebelling, particularly whenever he'd watched Molly move around the flat.

She'd been on her imposed leave from Barts and had been... Quite frankly, looking a bit lost.  
Since their... Encounter, he'd avoided her as much as possible within the small flat, but he kept a watchful eye on her.

The first day, she'd gotten out of bed at her usual hour and dressed, only to sit quietly in her kitchen, staring at a mug of tea for entirely too long. She'd spent the rest of the day distracted, seeming as if she was looking at her things through the eyes of a stranger.

Sherlock frowned, going back to doing his best to NOT think about Molly Hooper. It was already proven she had far too much power over him, if the kiss they'd shared was any indication. His body was reacting without his consent and even his brain was wandering off into momentary oblivion. It simply would not do.

He'd tired of searching the internet Sebastian Moran- he'd have to wait until the Woman returned later to find out more- and dealing with his current situation with the Pathologist who stood in the kitchen, feeding the cat twice as many times as normal.

He picked up his violin, going about tuning the strings and applying resin to the bow in long practiced movements as his mind worked through the information he'd gathered. His fingers slid easily over the strings in movements practiced over a lifetime that had always proved useful for focus. He chose a melody at random, something complicated and deeply classical, making the memory of his mother's stern voice creep up to remind him that he was wanting in all the ways that mattered.

"That's lovely."

Molly's voice interrupted him abruptly. That was new and a bit unsettling. He turned to look at her sharply. She reddened under his gaze, but continued on, "What you were just playing. It was really lovely. It seemed...I dunno, sad, though."

Sherlock frowned, finally noting that it was dark in the flat now. He'd been playing for several hours intermittently. Despite that, he wasn't any further along in solving his problem. He took a moment to recall what he'd been playing that was so "sad", as Molly had observed. It had been something from the book of his own compositions. He now realized that he had subconsciously selected the piece he'd written about the Woman to be able to navigate the pastel room that was reserved for Molly Hooper. Needless to say that it hadn't actually worked.

"Yes," he replied to Molly's comment finally, only to notice that she had left the room, now completely dark.

He put the violin and bow down, his shoulders and joints protesting at the prolonged position. He stretched himself out on the couch, listening for Molly within the house, noting the sounds of her shifting in the bedroom. Sleeping by now, he realized, if the hour on the mantelpiece clock was anything to judge by. She had been in the habit of sleeping early, putting her hair up in a loose braid most nights. He imagined her nestled down into her pillow, blankets pulled up to her chin. How easy it would be to simply slip in beside her, mold himself against her and get the rest that he so often thought unnecessary. Perhaps, she would wake and be willing to experiment with kissing again.

_Bollocks._

This was not the way to delete their encounter from two days ago. It didn't usually take him this long to delete an experience.

His eyes flew open as he reached a realization.

He didn't  _want_  to delete it. The thought was... Honestly, he wasn't sure what it was. Another thing to add to the pile of data he didn't know what to do with.

With a growl of frustration, he stood up from the couch, peeling off nicotine patch he'd applied that morning and dropped it to replace it with a fresh one. Sherlock hated all the uncertainty, the  _feeling_  that it produced in him. It threw him off balance, made him completely unable to focus properly. It didn't help that he seemed to have no control over his bodily reactions.

Sherlock paced the floor of the small sitting room. He knew that this wasn't about a solution. Rather it was a decision that he had to make and he would have to make make soon, before Molly made it for him. Which would probably mean him having to leave the flat.

An unacceptable outcome.

"Sherlock!"

His hands stilled on the bow. He hadn't noticed when he'd picked up the violin again. Irene flipped on a small light, making him blink to adjust his eyes to the light. Not that it was really necessary, as he briefly noted the dawn beginning to push through the curtains.

"Sherlock, this is no time to be playing that damnable thing," Irene hissed, walking over and snatching the bow out of his hands. "You will wake the building at this rate and then our little game of house will be over when they call the police on a noise complaint."

Sherlock did his best to keep his face impassive at being chastised like a child. "I need to  _think_."

"People need to sleep, starting with the woman in the next room," Irene said pointedly.

Sherlock glared at her, snatching back the bow from her hand and moving to put it and violin away. "I haven't heard any complaints."

"Honestly, the two of you are ridiculous," Irene said in exasperation, snatching a pen from the table next to the phone and walking purposefully into the kitchen. She was back a moment later, throwing her coat across the back of the couch. "There," she said with a sigh before she stripped off her dress and let it pool on the floor.

Sherlock frowned. "Rule number one, Woman."

"I'm going for a shower," she replied, walking down the hall towards the bathroom. "And you should check rule number five."

Sherlock waited until the door shut behind Irene before stepping over to the kitchen, flipping on the light and peering at the paper with the house rules. He knew very well what rule number five said, but he'd ignored it, brain work taking precedent. Rule number two was more paramount for him to follow. He noted Irene's script beside Molly's, tilting his head to consider it. The corner of his mouth twitched a bit.

He'd be interested to see how Molly would react.

He found himself looking forward to it.

**# 5 No violin playing. _from the hours of 11 pm to 8 am._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been one of the more difficult chapters for me to write, mostly because I suck at it and didn't know where this was going, exactly.   
> Special thanks to [Emcee Frodis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee) for being my soulmate, rewriting bits of this to make more sense, and for generally putting up with me.


	4. Enunciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: In this version of reality, I own none of this. At all.
> 
> based on "The Full House" Chapter 11

 

* * *

If someone had told her six months ago that she would be at that moment be pinned down on her couch by Sherlock Holmes trying to kiss her within an inch of her life, she would have had them committed.

It was completely and rabidly  _mad_ to think that she would know just what the expanse of his chest felt like, the texture of his curls between her fingers, or that despite all previous protests, he really did like her breasts quite a lot. She now knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of all of his intense concentration, and right at this moment it meant that she couldn't exactly breathe.

She pushed on his shoulder bit, letting some of his weight off her and breaking their kiss.

"Sherlock, I need to breathe," she panted, doing her best to introduce oxygen into her lungs and back up into her brain.

Sherlock sat back on his heels, hair mussed and lips swollen, his breathing a bit less laboured than hers. She sat up too, wiping her mouth with the back of hand. Who would have thought Sherlock would be a sloppy kisser?

"Adrenaline is higher this time," he said, his voice low even as he reached for her again, moving her to straddle his lap and assaulting her neck. "Your heartbeat's erratic," he mumbled against her throat. "Can your oxytocin be climbing at all at this rate?"

Molly felt dizzy for a moment when she realized that this wasn't going to be just another one of the hour-long  _i-need-to-clear-my-head_  snogs they'd fallen into the habit of. He hadn't slept in days and was looking to take this further than usual when she felt his hands snake up under her shirt and search for the clasps in her bra... Only to find none.

He pulled back suddenly. "This one's new," he commented with a frown, his fingers running along the edge of her bra, searching. "But you haven't left the house to do more than grocery shopping since you got dismissed from Barts which means you've had this for a while, but not as part of your regular rotation, hidden in the back somewhere, only for special occasions."

And there is was. The stream of deductions about her that made her shift uncomfortably, suddenly very, very self-conscious. "Sherlock, I-."

"Let's have a look, then," he went on, ignoring her distress as he hauled her shirt over her head, his eyes dropping to her light pink bra. She recognized the face he was making, studying her under the magnifying glass of his huge brain, probably realizing that she had pulled this out from the back of her drawer because she'd thought it was special, and lately she'd really really been wanting to feel special.

She swallowed thickly as he ran a finger over the curve of her breast along the edge of the lace, his eyebrows knit tightly together in a look she'd only seen him take on when inspecting specimens.

"Sherlock, w-what-could you not," she began, her hands fluttering a bit, doing her best not to swat his hand away and cover herself up.

"How does this even work?" he muttered to himself, using his arms to lift hers and peer around to her back.

"Sherlock, don't," Molly finally managed, her voice a bit smaller than she liked.

Sherlock was looking at her again, and she was sure that her face her turned beet red. He glanced at her face quickly. "You're uncomfortable. Did you want to stop?"

"Yes. I mean, no!" she quickly amended when he moved to get up. "Not-" she gestured between them vaguely. "I mean, this is lovely. And-and you know that I'm always willing do anything with you. No, that's not what I meant. I mean-I like this."

"Molly, Rule #4," he said, a tone of warning in his voice, the one that was not-so-subtly telling her that she might want to either get to the point or shut up really soon.

"You see, it's just-well- I'm a  _girl_ , you see... And... And... I... I like to be SEEN as... Well... Ummm..." she fiddled with the second button of his shirt, staring at it intently as she struggled to get her words out.

He sighed deeply and stopped her hands by wrapping his fingers around her wrists. When she glanced up at his face, he was wearing an expression of slight confusion. "Molly, I am more than well aware of your gender. Or else I wouldn't have this infernal contraption to deal with." He moved a finger up to at the strap of her bra lightly.

Molly felt her blush deepen, shifting a bit from her position over his lap. "It's just that...well, I-I don't..."

"Spit it out, Molly," Sherlock commanded.

"I'm not a crime scene!" her frustration manifesting in the declaration being a lot louder than she'd intended.

Now Sherlock looked rightly confused. "Pardon?"

"No, sorry! It's just...What I mean, is that I don't...I don't like it when you look at me like I'm-I'm something to...figure out," she explained as best she could, her voice dropping a bit towards the end.

When she chanced a look at Sherlock's face, he bore a look that she'd only really seen once before... At that awful Christmas party an age ago. He was confused and conflicted and completely caught off guard. His eyes met hers finally.

"Molly," he said slowly, her name dragged out in a low voice that affected her more than she cared to admit. "I am sorry that I've made you uncomfortable."

He rubbed small circles against her wrist which she was sure he didn't even realize. "You did tell me before that deducing you while in an intimate setting was not appropriate, so I apologize for my lapse."

He pulled her closer then, kissing her more gently than he'd ever had before as further proof of his apology. He pulled back, running his hands up her shoulders and down to run through her hair, making her shiver. "I would appreciate it, though, if you could not stammer quite so much. If I've done something wrong, don't hedge around it. Just say it, and I'll correct it."

She nodded, knowing that she would do her best and so would he and that was the only thing they could really offer each other. He rewarded her further with a small smile.

"Well, would you like to see how it works, then?" she asked, enjoying the momentary look of confusion on his face.

She reached down to the front of her bra, neatly slipping off the clasp and chancing a glance at his face.

" _Fascinating..._ "

_**# 4: Stop stammering, ~~it makes you sound insipid.~~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE ENORMOUS THANK YOU to [Emcee Frodis](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee), who lets me muck around with her story and holds my hand while I write this one.
> 
> Just so you guys know, this is raciest thing you'll EVER get from me.


	5. Accounting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very very special thank you to Emcee Frodis, the Sherlock to my Watson, the Moffat to my Gatiss and the best beta reader ever.
> 
> Keep in mind that between Ch 10 & Ch 11 of The Full House, there's a little over a month. So that's where the rest of this story is going to be set (this is 5/7, btw, so the end is near!).
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's cute that you think that I own anything here. Because it's a lie. Obviously.

**5\. Accounting**

It was unseasonably hot in London all week. A freak October heatwave had people with short trousers and even shorter tempers.

Irene felt sweat gathering between her shoulder blades as she climbed the steps to the flat and left herself in. The darkened hallway was cooler than the searing mid-afternoon heat and she was grateful for it as she toed off her shoes.

Irene walked further into the flat to find Molly standing by the window fan, absently running her fingers through damp hair, a frown on her face. She turned at the sound of Irene entering the room, her shoulders tense and her posture rigid. Catching sight of the other woman however, she breathed what Irene recognized as sigh of relief.

Interesting.

"Hullo, Irene," Molly said, smiling at her as brightly as she could manage. "Haven't seen you in a while. Everything okay?"

Irene smiled back, moving to the hall closet that had been "assigned" as hers and slipping off her clothes and pulling on a light dressing gown. She much rather would have gone without of course, but there were rules here after all.

"Had some time to kill before going out again tonight," Irene told Molly. "Thought I'd pop over and see how my favorite flatmates were holding up."

She smiled wickedly. "To be honest, I'm a bit disappointed that I didn't...interrupt something."

Molly's face flushed the most adorable shade of red as she looked away, a frown quickly returning to her features.

Irene walked over to stand next to Molly for a bit, feeling the cooler air from the fan raise goosebumps on her skin. She really needed a nice cool shower, but something compelled her to stay right where she was. Something was wrong, and for the first time in a long time, Irene found herself caring to find out.

"Where's Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked. "I should probably talk to him before I go out again."

"He's...not here..." Molly bit her lip. "We...umm...well, we had a bit of a row."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise? So soon?"

"No...it's not, like that, really," Molly tried to backpedal a little, but suddenly just stopped talking. "Do you know what, nevermind, it doesn't matter."

"It's bothering you, Molly," Irene said, genuinely concerned about the woman who had willingly entered into a relationship with probably the most frustrating man on the planet. Irene had secretly found herself rooting for them to work out, but it looked like things might be on the rocks already. She was disappointed. "Can I help?"

Molly gave her a look that Irene could only describe as skeptical.

"Molly," Irene smiled reassuringly. "Despite, or rather  _because of_ my chosen profession, I have seen my fair share of relationships in various levels of decay. And let me tell you that the first step to that is believing that your little arguments mean nothing. You certainly don't have to talk to me about them but you should at the very least talk with Mr Holmes about how you're feeling while things are still nothing but little squabbles."

Molly looked away again, turning a piece of her damp hair around her finger and biting her lower lip. Irene took a moment to observe Molly Hooper for a moment. There was the delicate profile that held a touch of innocence, especially with her hair around her shoulders, dark eyes that were emotional but intelligent. Living in her home for months and knowing everything she'd managed to do for Sherlock...how that man hadn't swept her up long before all of this was frankly the biggest of all mysteries.

Molly sighed deeply and then turned to her with a small smile. "Would you like some ice cream?"

Irene hadn't been honestly expecting that. "That...that would be lovely, thank you."

"I just bought a new one last time I went shopping, and I feel a bit guilty eating it by myself," Molly tittered as she moved into the kitchen. Irene could hear the clatter of plates and the opening and closing of the ice box. She loathed to pull herself away from the fan, but sat down on the couch, angling herself to still be in the draft. It really was ghastly hot.

Molly came back and handed Irene a bowl with a spoon stuck in it.

"I hope you like caramel," Molly said as she sat down beside Irene on the couch.

Irene bit into creamy dessert and let out a sound she didn't normally allow herself outside of specific situations. "Doctor Hooper, what  _ **is**_ this?"

Molly giggled as she put a spoonful into her own mouth, keeping the spoon there a little longer than necessary as she enjoyed it. "It's my new favorite," she finally said. "I can't bring myself to eat it all myself, but I really think that I could."

"Not if I get to it first," Irene assured her with a wink, enjoying the caramel and chocolate dissolving on her tongue in cold sweetness.

They sat in companionable silence, the whir of the fan and the clinking of spoons against ceramic.

"Money," Molly said then, clearing her throat a bit. "It's what we argued about."

Irene frowned. Probably one of the most statistically common subjects of disagreements among couples. But considering that the parties involved in this particular case were a woman who didn't flinch when faced with most extraordinary of situations and the world's only consulting detective, it didn't make much sense that something as simple as money would cause a problem for them. The best course for now was to just listen.

"Sherlock's been giving me money for living expenses since he moved in with me, but I never really liked to use it," Molly went on. "But now...well, now he's been putting money directly into my bank account and I just..." She shrugged. "It just...doesn't feel right."

Irene bit back a laugh. "What's not right about letting him pay for his own upkeep?"

Molly shifted and glared into the bowl in her hands. "It's not that, it's just that since we...well, since we've now been..."

"More intimately involved?" Irene prompted.

"Yes. Well, I can't help but feel a little bit like he's..." Molly had turned red again. "Like he's giving me money because of that."

It was laughable. Or at least it would have been had Irene not know that someone like Molly WOULD get an impression like that, considering that Sherlock had the worst sense of timing Irene had ever seen.

"Doctor Hooper, let me explain something to you," Irene began, setting down her bowl in the coffee table in front of them and turning to face Molly. "As someone who  _does_  get paid for intimacy: if you were being paid for sex, believe me, you would  _know_  it. And didn't you say he was giving you money before?"

"Yes, but before I only used it for things that he would use. Now he's expecting me to use it for my things as well." Molly shrugged and bit her bottom lip. "I told you, it's stupid to feel this way. It's nothing."

"Look at it this way: you've been suspended from Barts and thus your income has dropped down to nothing. You not only have to continue to pay for this flat, no matter how small and disgustingly hot at the moment, you also have the added burden of two flatmates that aren't exactly low maintenance," Irene said, doing her best to state the facts as plainly as possible. "You've put up with it with the patience of a saint. Now putting aside the frankly bad timing of his contributions, wouldn't you say that Mr Holmes is actually being...rather uncharacteristically considerate of you?"

Molly laughed a bit nervously at that, grabbing at a lock of her hair again, and wrapping it around her finger as she considered Irene's words.

Irene refrained from rolling her eyes. "Come on, I'll make it easier for you," she said, grabbing Molly's wrist and dragging her up off the couch, walking them both into the kitchen. Irene picked up a pen and scrawled on the now nearly revered purple sheet of paper posted there.

"There! You see? Easy as that. All fixed," Irene said with a smile.

The sound of the front door closing stopped whatever comment Molly was about to make as they both listened for the person that they both knew had come in through the door.

"Now go and tell him that we've fixed this whole silly business and you can go back to your little paradise," Irene said, swooping in a planting a loud kiss on Molly's cheek.

She stopped at the kitchen doorway to give Sherlock a grin. "I'll expect a thank you later," she informed him, not waiting for a reply as she moved onto towards that cold shower she'd been wanting all day.

Though, if she timed it right, she might be able to walk in on something a little later after all.

" **# 6 Stop feeling guilty for using Sherlock's money."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ice cream is (appropriately) Ben & Jerry's "Karamel Sutra".
> 
> There was freak heat wave in London last year in October. There's nothing to say it wouldn't happen again this year.
> 
> Again, this is 5/7, so stay tuned!
> 
> cheers.
> 
> \--Lex


End file.
